


Education

by Dragonsigma



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Creative punishment, Gen, Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 05:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonsigma/pseuds/Dragonsigma
Summary: Cala falters in his duties.





	Education

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mayormadeleinerobin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayormadeleinerobin/gifts).



He could hardly blame Ralet for sending him the book, nor blame him that it had proved so interesting that he did not lift his eyes from the page until many hours after he should have retired, but Cala considered it more than once as he watched the Emperor sleep from his seat by the window. Nor could he blame the text itself, though he would never again take that book from the shelf without a sting of remorse.

For that night he took his post to watch over the Emperor... and woke to Beshelar's aghast face hovering over him. Horror surged through him - was there an intruder? How had he fallen asleep?

“What-”

“Lazy, incompetent _fool_ _!”_ Beshelar roared, inches from Cala’s face. “Darest abandon thy duty?” He seized Cala’s arm in a crushing grip and dragged him from his seat. Cala, disoriented and frightened, fought his grasp, tried to shrink back, but Beshelar held him firm.

Then a shifting of blankets and confused, frantic words that froze them both in place: “Beshelar, Cala, what is it? Are you well?”

Cala’s heart plummeted - their argument had woken the Emperor. He turned towards the bed and caught only a glimpse of alarmed eyes before Beshelar threw him to the ground.

He had no chance to resist; his hands struck the carpet before his nose did, and he knelt there, trembling and silent, ears pinned flat against his head, as Beshelar raged to the Emperor of his failure.

“Enough! Be silent,” the Emperor ordered after only a few words of this. Beshelar swallowed his protests, though he shook with fury still. Dryly, “We are assuming there is no imminent danger?”

“No danger, Serenity,” Beshelar answered, though the rumble of tension in his voice made it clear he wanted to say more.

“Good.” The Emperor had recovered his poise, and his next words were pure command. “Beshelar, guard from without. Cala, get up.”

Beshelar gave a curt acknowledgement and strode from the room, leaving a heavy silence in his wake, in which Cala lurched to his feet and did not meet his Emperor’s eyes.

The silence continued, almost unbearable, for several long moments more, and then Maia asked, gently, “Cala. What happened?”

He could have wept at those words, at that voice that held only concern and confusion and no trace of accusation at all.

“I fell asleep, Serenity,” Cala admitted, voice small. “I’m sorry.” The words burned. He had made a fool of himself and endangered the Emperor and Beshelar both with his carelessness. It would have been easier to speak had he still knelt. His shame threatened to pin him to the floor yet again, but his Emperor had ordered him to stand, so stand he would.

“Didst not rest before thy shift?” Maia asked. “Art ill, Cala?”

He did not even think to lie, though it might have spared him what was to come. “No, Serenity, I am perfectly well. I was… distracted today, in reading, and did not sleep when I ought to have.” A mistake one expected from a novice, not a grown man and a dachenmaza.

The Emperor considered this for some time. And then, “Cala. Look at me.”

Cala looked, for he could not disobey, and he knew the Emperor had made his decision.

“Shalt not lose thyself in thy studies and neglect thy rest, Cala,” he said, “for it affects thy duties. Shalt not continue thy reading or thy research for the space of a week, when we shall reconsider the matter.”

Cala's ears drooped further. “Yes, Serenity,” he said, miserably.

The Emperor sighed. “You are relieved for the night. Send for Kiru, and go to bed.”

A fresh wave of guilt overtook Cala, that not only had he woken the Emperor, who needed sleep far more than he, but that he would drag Kiru from her deserved rest as well. “Yes, Serenity. Thank you.”

He started to creep back to his post, but the Emperor shook his head. “Guard the hall. Let us speak to Beshelar.”

Beshelar did not look at him when he emerged and relayed the order. Cala was glad of it, for it meant Beshelar did not see his face. And it meant he did not have to face the Emperor again until the morning.

Kiru arrived shortly after, and mercifully did not ask him why she had been summoned, but of course she could not fail to see his distress. When she learned, she would be concerned, he thought, and disappointed. He would endure it, and he would do all he could to never fail her again.

Cala returned to his empty quarters and curled in his bed and utterly failed to keep from crying, though whether it was for relief or shame, he did not know.

He slept through until the morning, when Beshelar returned. He raised his head; Beshelar still did not look at him.

“Art fortunate indeed, to serve such a merciful lord,” Beshelar said, and Cala knew it to be true. The Emperor had forbidden him his books, his studies, and Cala was grateful for it. For it was in care as much as in punishment, and a far gentler punishment it was than any he could have expected from another master.

Still, in the days that followed, Cala thought at times he might have preferred a beating. At least it would have been over quickly. Every time he came off a shift and glanced to his writing-desk only to be rebuked by a glare from Beshelar, every time he put away unopened a newsprint periodical or letter from a friend, he remembered his failure. Shame dragged at him, at his feet and ears and heart. Beshelar watched him closely, as if he expected Cala to break the Emperor’s command. How long would it be before he had his partner’s trust again? The Emperor turned to him more than usual too, but Maia’s glances were sad, not judging, and Cala had not the words to cheer him.

Cala was dressing on the third day of his punishment when he saw how Beshelar's gaze lingered on the dark bruises standing out on his shoulder. And then he understood what Beshelar’s glances had meant.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Cala lied.

“That does not matter.” Beshelar sighed and shook his head. “We ought not have spoken to you such, nor laid our hands on you as we did. We can only offer our apologies, Athmaza.”

Cala winced at the formality. “Forgiven, my friend. I was a fool that night and paid for it.”

“Perhaps. It does not excuse our conduct.”

Cala said nothing to that, only pulled his robe over his shoulders, very grateful that Maia would never see the marks.

“Cala,” Beshelar said again, “It will be well. Art repenting of it, and he values thee.”

How strange it was, Cala thought, for Beshelar to be the one of them offering such words. He turned to his partner and smiled.

“I thank thee,” he offered, and with that the tension between them dropped away.

The days passed a little easier after that. The bruises faded, and Cala kept his watches with vehement focus, determined not to give his Emperor any reason to find him lacking. His free time, he spent resting or in quiet thought. As much as he missed his books and letters, the additional sleep was a blessing; he was indeed less weary during long shifts, exactly as the Emperor had intended. How wise he was, to decide as he did.

Exactly a week after the night he had failed in his watch, the Emperor again called Cala into the inner chamber. Cala followed him inside, dropped to his knees to receive judgement - and Maia caught him before he could.

“Stand. Please.”

He rose, still in his Emperor’s embrace, welcoming this gift he had not expected, accepting the comfort and warmth Maia offered, and that he had so badly needed since that night.

At last they pulled apart, and Cala no longer feared the Emperor’s decision.

“Art better rested now?”

“Yes, Serenity. I thank you.”

Maia smiled. “Then canst return to thy reading, so long as it does not again drain thee so. What happened before is forgiven. I trust thee, Cala, and thank thee for all thou dost.”

Cala bowed, and took his post with renewed energy, knowing that his Emperor, and his books, would be there for him always.

  



End file.
